


The World Keeps Turning after You Die (Even so, I'd prefer it if you'd Stay Alive)

by Kiyuomi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Existential Crisis, Future Fic, Gen, Prompt: Reencounter, Rating due to Yuri's Foul Mouth, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Welcome to FeelsVille, growth spurt, rarepairsonice, rivals to friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9416513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyuomi/pseuds/Kiyuomi
Summary: “Nothing,” JJ sighs, closing his eyes and laying his head against the row of lockers behind him. “I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to. Lived the perfect life.” The asshole even sounds peaceful, like he’s enjoying an ocean breeze. “Nothing is next.”-Being a figure skater means the ice is all they know. Yuri returns from a 5 year break but finds that the world is transfixed on another: JJ. Unfortunately, JJ doesn't seem nearly as transfixed with the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for feels
> 
> last day of rarepairsonice prompt: reencounter

                The year Victor and Yuuri retire, together, forever in love, is the same year that the world of figure skating for Yuri begins to fall apart. He grows taller, limbs longer, torso wider and suddenly he can both jump higher and not high enough. He takes a year off to train, hard, harder; his limbs scream and body protests and he tries, tries, tries to wear too small clothing and stretch the wrong ways and balance heavy books on his head to squeeze himself back down but his body just won’t.

                Yuri ends up taking a three year leave from figure skating. He never stops practicing. The media has all but forgotten him, asking about the “new Victor” and the next “power couple”, coach and skater pair. Yuri’s Angels still hold onto his image, his small fifteen year old body, but they’ve fallen. Dismembered. The age of Yuri, a boy who set history with a gold medal at fifteen, is over.

                Four years past.

                Yuri reenters the world of skating, but still, the eyes aren’t on him.

                It’s maddening.

 

                Unsurprisingly, it’s JJ who becomes the “next Victor”. New skaters come and old skaters go, but it’s JJ who finishes year after year, smiling at the cameras and blowing kisses and doing his stupid hand signs. He still sings, still designs, still models; the perfect public figure. Skating fans around the world adore him; sing their praises for anyone to hear. “It’s JJ Style” gets nominated as one of the most famous slogans in the world.

                He’s doing well.

                He’s doing amazingly well.

                Being the “new Victor”, that should have been an obvious warning.

 

                The day Yuri announces his return to the world of figure skating is the same day JJ announces his retirement from CEO and designer of “JJ Style”.

                He doesn’t turn on the news that day to check the reaction to his announcement or anything, but when the news station starts reporting about Jean-Jacques Leroy instead, Yuri is more than a little mad.

                “I can’t believe it! Even now, he’s still in my way!” Old frustration bubbles up as the reporters continue, commenting about the potential reasons behind the shift. He flips through the channels, looking, searching for himself. It’s just by chance that he catches it.

                “It’s possible that this is an effect of the troubles between him and his wife, Mrs. Isabella…”

                Yuri freezes, fingers still over the remote.

                “The popular fan group, JJGirls, have been asking if this is a sign of a career shift for Mr. Leroy. Though rumors fly about the future of what JJ Style will become with his departure, the announcement of his leaving and the companies’ ability to move on makes the impression that this was a planned departure.”

                He presses down on the power button.

                Yuri’d rather heard about himself, that’s all.

 

                When JJ checks his social media pages, he’s expecting the onslaught of questions. There are people saying that they won’t ever buy from his brand again, others begging him to return, another posting a sold out tee from his latest collection that he had signed once at a concert, resold at over four hundred thousand.

                He doesn’t expect a post from Yuri Plisetsky ever again.

                “Returning to the ice?” If anyone could have returned with a flourish, it would be Yuri. But still, looking over the post, it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a flourish. Yuri’s Angels still exist even now, but even this announcement doesn’t garner much attention.

                Even so, it’s Yuri Plisetsky.

                The boy who won gold in his very first senior Grand Prix, at fifteen.

                If it’s him, maybe, just maybe, JJ can do it.

 

                They meet at the same place they had during Yuri’s senior debut. It’s then that Yuri realizes just how much he hates the Cup of Canada.

                “Yuri, it’s great to see you again!” JJ’s grinning, laughing and waving his arms wildly. Even at 23, he’s still the jerkish annoyance Yuri remembers.

                It makes him sick.

                “Don’t talk to me,” he snaps, brushing aside the Canadian skater. He hasn’t changed. He really, honestly, hasn’t changed.

                JJ wins Gold, Yuri silver. It’s great; amazing, considering this is his second senior debut, four years away from the public eye and the criticism on ice. The audience is suddenly swept up again, roaring, and even though the numbers are small, Yuri’s Angels hits the top ten trending searches for the first in nearly five years.

                The top tag is JJ, again. Announcing his departure from his rock band right after winning gold. Brushing aside his victory, like it’s nothing.

                Yuri wants to crush him.

 

                Yuri’s hair has grown out, long and silky, just past his shoulders and tied up in skate. His theme this season is “return”, quite obvious, but JJ likes that about him. Even though he would prefer to be able to speak to the Russian tiger with a friendlier tone, Yuri really has remained Yuri. Angry, vicious, and beautifully precise in every move he makes. When he skates, the audience falls quiet.

                Peaceful.

                Even though it’s JJ who wins gold, the cameras are pointed in another direction. He smiles, subdued, and shuffles away. One reporter stops him, questioning, and he doesn’t mean to blurt it out.

                “I’m retiring from music.”

                He looks at Yuri, level. The Russian has his head turned away, noisily marching away from the ruckus.

                “I want to skate out this season to the fullest.”

                JJ doesn’t need to say why. There’s a newly lit fire burning in him.

                He has to put it out.

 

                It’s no surprise to anyone that JJ makes it to the Grand Prix Final with two gold medals, landing himself in first place. After the initial surprise to Yuri’s successful return, there’s also no doubt that the Russian skater is going to land himself into the final. It’s held in France this year, and Yuri is pleased to message Otabek for a long time reunion. Since his departure, faces have come and gone, but Otabek remains.

                “It’s been a while, Beka!”

                Talking to Otabek is familiar, nice. There’s little friendly jabs, little bits of “where did you go” and “why are you back” and Yuri honestly, really doesn’t want to answer any of them. He hadn’t spoken to Otabek in five years for a reason. Otabek talks of the other skaters, a brightly colored kid from Japan and someone from Brazil, and then of the old, of Yuuri and Victor and JJ. Yuri rushes through the topics and Otabek frowns at that, just a pull at his lips while the conversation diverts away from JJ’s retirement plans, but then the fries arrive and they’re all smiles again. They split after dinner, warm and half sane, and that’s enough.

                He bumps into JJ at the hotel, and his happy mood spirals downward.

                “Oh, Yuri! Just ate?” The bug at his side laughs obnoxiously and Yuri growls, stalking away. He’d think five years of departure would somehow humble the grossly loud and arrogant king, but he supposes winning gold repeatedly wouldn’t do so. Still, Yuri can’t wait to destroy him at the final, claiming gold once again.

                “Really?” There’s curiosity and something else in JJ’s voice, something dark. Yuri frowns, turning and jolting upon realization of how close JJ had saddled in. The Canadian grins, all teeth and no lip. “Hurry up then. I’ll await that.”

                He walks away.

                The worst thing about the encounter is somehow, it doesn’t feel like JJ was lying.

 

                The most addiction thing about a theme about “return”, see, is that it’s captivating. It’s inspirational. You don’t need to know, to love ice skating to understand the power behind returning. The power in rebirth.

                Yuri throws his whole body, all gangly limbs and heavy set, into his routine. It’s dangerous in a way he never was when he was younger; familiar strength and fierceness set in the cutting edge of beauty, but it’s a different level. It’s bigger, swallowing, and when JJ watches he feels familiar trepidation settle in his gut.

                But he can’t falter. Not now, when he’s so close. Not now, after spending so long in preparation.

                Rebirth.

                Soon, he promises as Yuri leaves the ice, soon.

 

                The Free Skate ends with JJ on top and Yuri a close second, Otabek an even closer third. It’s more than a little aggravating to see the familiar name at first place yet again, but Yuri somehow manages to bear with it until he approaches the locker room.

                “Think you should go through with it. Isn’t Yuri enough now?” It’s Otabek, Yuri realizes, speaking in a hush tone. His hand lays on the handle of the door, open just a crack, and his eyes wander the hallways. The other skaters must have cleared out already, and security isn’t roaming these halls just yet. Yuri presses closer to the door, careful not to squeak, and listens.

                “Yuri hasn’t won.” A gratingly familiar voice laughs and Yuri resists the urge to growl. JJ continues on, speaking in the same low voice as Otabek, and Yuri strains to catch his words. “Don’t you think this is the best thing for me? I’m just doing as Victor would have.”

                “Victor didn’t plan to die.”

                There’s a silence in the room. Yuri’s frozen, hands clenched against the door as the statement runs over his head. Die? Victor isn’t dead. He’s alive; perfectly healthy with Yuuri doing whatever it is married couples do. Yuri doesn’t know anyone who planned to die.

                “Otabek, look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Really,” another chuckle, low, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

                “Anything,” it’s the first Yuri has ever heard Otabek sound pleading. “What can I do to make you reconsider?” His voice is urgent, coaxing whatever words he can. It sounds like he’s about to cry.

                “Win.” JJ’s voice is firm. It’s almost unfair how so.

                “Beat me and win. That’s all.”

 

                Otabek storms out after that. JJ keeps his face perfectly blank as he hastily packs his bag and walks out, pretending that he doesn’t see the way Otabek bites at his lower lip and the expression flittering across his face. There’s guilt in him, clawing upward and protesting because he’s supposed to leave in a peaceful manner and causing others to cry is not.

                JJ sighs, strips off his shirt and changes, pulling on a familiar worn grey tee. He doesn’t want to have regrets. He doesn’t have any.

                Then Yuri kicks open the locker room, and everything goes haywire.

                “Like Hell you’re going to win, asshole!”

 

                Seeing JJ’s dumb expression makes the sudden throbbing in his right leg worth it. Yuri hadn’t meant to actually kick the door in; in the time away from skating, he’s matured more than that. But seeing Otabek rush past him, only flinching upon recognition and giving a hasty attempt to wipe at his eyes ignited a familiar fury in his body. It may not be as concentrated as when he was smaller, but it’s every bit as angry.

                “Yuri?” He even thinks he has the right to sound surprised. Yuri glares down at the Canadian skater as he hastily tugs at his shirt, pulling it down to cover his bare skin. As though Yuri cares.

                “Who else?” Anger thrums in him, accusational, and he doesn’t bother hiding that fact that he was eavesdropping. “What’s this I hear about you dying? There’s no way that you can skate like today,” fast, powerful, every bit as musical and attention-grabbing as he had been years ago, “when you’re dying.” His words are shaped like daggers, coated green and dripping with poison but JJ just barks a startled laugh.

                “Didn’t anyone tell you not to listen in?” He’s grinning as though this is some joke, as though Yuri hadn’t just overheard what he did. He wants to punch JJ’s face in. “Don’t tell me; some time away from the ice, you discovered your love for me?” His voice is teasing, light, and Yuri stomps forward. “Oh ho, have I hit the nail on the head? Yuri, do you love me?”

                “I’d rather you die,” Yuri deadpans. His hands tighten into fists and he really, really wants to slug the Canadian jerk in the face. “What’s this about you dying?” It’s not a question. He’s looming over the other, sitting stock still against the lockers and Yuri can’t imagine JJ running away. “Tell me now.”

 

                Yuri really has grown.

                JJ hums in response, eying the Russian skater. It’s an unfamiliar situation, suddenly being put against a wall and forced to respond. Nobody had the guts, much less the skill, to really corner him in years.

                It’s thrilling.

                It’s also just one person.

                “I’m alive,” JJ says, keeping his face perfectly neutral. In moments, Yuri will angrily stomp away, and JJ will be free to return to his devices. He knows that. “I’m not in any critical health condition. My body is perfectly fine.” It’s skirting around the topic. But it works.

                Yuri raises his fist as though he’s about to punch him. From below, the shadow of his raised arm falls over JJ’s face. JJ watches it, go higher until it’s about to strike down, and doesn’t bother closing his eyes when it falls.

                It stops in front of his face.

                Yuri pinches his nose and JJ yelps in surprise at the cold fingers, slapping away the hand. Yuri’s suddenly grinning, this little self-satisfied smirk and JJ narrows his eyes.

                “Tell me.”

 

                Growing up means shifting your center of balance, finding a new core, finding a new life. Growing up means one day discarding what you once knew as life itself, and finding another. Growing up, Yuri realized at the tender age of fifteen, is horrifying.

                Growing up also means that for once, he’s the one in power.

                JJ visibly looks conflicted, opening his mouth only to shut it again, chewing the side of his lips. Yuri doesn’t have time for this, doesn’t really care except for Otabek’s sake; and that’s the only reason why he slams his hand against the locker, loud clanging echoing in their small room. JJ flinches, a flash of vulnerability, before his face settles back into emptiness.

                “Yuri, how would you feel if I died?”

                “I don’t care.” It’s the automatic response. It’s only when JJ shoots him his own self-satisfied smirk, that arrogant prick; that Yuri bristles: wrong answer.

                “Then why bother being here?” There’s something again, something in his voice that distorts his words but Yuri doesn’t know how. “If your existence doesn’t matter, why bother living? Why take the time to suffer an empty life when no one is going to remember your death? Yuri,” JJ’s voice dips down again, that hushed urgent whisper Otabek had spoken in, “we’re all going to die and be forgotten. I’m just speeding up the process.”

 

                Yuri’s face gets a hilarious shade of red at that. JJ resists making a sharp remark, partially because Yuri doesn’t actually have to talk to him and partially because this is probably the freest conversation he’s had in years. Yuri won’t hound him to change his mind. Yuri also won’t blabber to the press.

                “That’s just something an idiot like you would say,” Yuri hisses, his face twisting. It’s particularly unattractive. “You don’t live life to be recognized by others. You live life because there’s something worth living for.” His hands rattle the open locker behind JJ and the Canadian skater smiles. It must be the wrong thing to do, because Yuri gets even angrier, if possible. “What the hell, you goddamn bastard? Are you saying there’s nothing you like?”

                The thing is: there is. There are lots of things that JJ likes. He adores animals, his little siblings, his parents and Isabella. He loves to work in clothing, in skating and in music. Hearing his Christmas jingle, a song now three years old, play in every department store warms his heart like nothing else. He loves it, walking along, seeing people and knowing that they want to know him. It’s wonderful.

                It’s so, so wonderful.

                “I love the world, Yuri.” Another laugh earns another glare. It’s familiar, loving. “My life is pretty great, eh? Adoring fans, adoring family, wonderful friends. I can’t imagine someone who could have happier days.” He is happy. Taking in these past few days as his last, he’s never been happier. “I’m at the top of the world.”

                It almost makes one sick.

 

                Arrogance, Yuri decides, chose to manifest itself into one Jean-Jacques Leroy. Idiocy must have decided to reside in the Canadian’s brain too, because Yuri hadn’t ever heard of such a terrible thing before until this conversation.

                “You? At the top of the world?” It’s incredulous. It’s an immeasurable claim, one that spits on the desires and ideas of others. It’s a claim that acts as though Yuri doesn’t exist. “Don’t make me laugh. You’re nothing.” He hates it.

                “Yuri,” JJ’s voice is coaxing, as though he’s not the crazy one, “I am.” Prideful, horrible idiot. “I made the largest selling fashion brand in the world. I modeled for the best companies. I sang one hit wonder, then another, and since then I’ve never had a song that failed to play on the radio for months. Yuri,” it sounds like a list, “I’ve been the top skater for five years.”

                “And?” Yuri demands, because it’s not even a boast. They are facts, plain and simple, all pointing to the talent of the annoyance in front of him. “What’s next?”

                “Nothing,” JJ sighs, closing his eyes and laying his head against the row of lockers behind him. “I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to. Lived the perfect life.” The asshole even sounds peaceful, like he’s enjoying an ocean breeze. “Nothing is next.”

 

                It’s not a challenge.

                It’s not even a complaint.

                JJ’s satisfied.

                Maybe he’s a little crazy. Maybe there are signs of depression in him, anxiety rooted from young when he spent more time in front of cameras and stage lights then with friends. Maybe he doesn’t know a thing he’s talking about. But ignorance is bliss. Knowing what he does, and what he doesn’t care to find out, he’s perfectly satisfied.

                Words can’t sway him at this point.

                “I’m going to beat you tomorrow,” Yuri spits out, “I’m going to destroy you.”

                JJ peers out from one eye.

                “There’s always more.”

                “How?”

 

                For the first of that evening, there’s something genuine in JJ’s voice. Yuri’s frown lightens, his brow furrows and he already knows the answer. He already knows because once, at a time when his body wasn’t cooperating and there was nothing else in life for him to live for, he thought the same. He would have thought JJ, older, supposedly wiser, would have already learned.

                Yuri speaks.

                “Whoever heard of a skater returning to the ice after nearly five years?” Fury, partially at himself, partially at nature and the world, had taken over his life. “No one cares about it. No one believes it, and everyone thinks it’s just a mark for failure. They think it’s a desperate attempt.” Fury, Yuri had learned, fades. “It is.” Determination resides on the edge, taking over the moment the flames of anger flicker out.

                Nobody knows this story, not grandpa, not Otabek, not a soul in the world but himself. The feeling of clawing his way up from nothing and everything, of drowning at the top of the world and wondering where could he go without that goal. He had achieved his purpose, but that was it. That was all he knew.

                “My body didn’t cooperate. I couldn’t jump, couldn’t spin; I couldn’t skate the way my body had learned since the moment I was born.” He had been taken to the ice. They all had. “There was nothing for me on the ice then.” Yuri swallowed. At that time, he really had, “I considered quitting. Giving up.” Silence. “No one would blame me.” He already had his gold medal win. His world record.

                Yuri leveled a look at JJ.

                “That first year, I was top of the world.”

 

                A year ago, JJ would have never imagined Yuri to be one to speak like this. The Yuri Plitesky he knew was one that kicked in doors, avoided others with a certain keenness and treated the world like the trash stuck to his shoe. The Yuri Plitesky JJ knew would have never taken the time to talk like this, a one on one, a little journey down memory lane.

                But see, no one knows this memory. It’s special, precious. So JJ stays quiet, listening.

                He understands. But he’s already decided. JJ knows that he’s a very stubborn person.

                “Life had given me everything already. Maybe that’s why it decided to take away the others. Because by the time I was 16, I had done what everyone else wanted. I took your gold,” not arrogance, but acceptance drank in his voice, “and I had made history.” Even from below and five years older, Yuri retains his pretty face, sharply cut by shadows under the white locker room lights. It’s bright, like being on ice. “I did all I wanted to do. I was done.”

                JJ is a very stubborn person.

                “I could have never come back to the ice. But,” his eyes stare into JJ’s, “I did.” Something tremors in his voice, precious, and JJ fears for it to be lost. “Even though there was nothing left, I clung on to the ice. I took the peaceful success I could have, and I tore it up. I ripped it to shreds. Every part of me, the old me, I destroyed.” His eyes slip shut. Familiar resignation meets JJ’s eyes.

                “Is that a bad thing?”

 

                “No.”

                Yuri hadn’t, actually, expected JJ to respond. Opening his eyes to the other’s conflicted face, neither did he. Yuri doesn’t care.

                “It’s not bad. You’ve always,” JJ swallows, suddenly quiet. It’s a different quiet than before, the sort of fakeness that coated his words with a sunny grin. He’s pausing, firm pulls at his lips, thinking. It’s a good look on him. “You’ve always been an amazing skater. You were always a strong rival.” His face is crossed, as though thinking. “I liked competitions against you.” JJ’s running away.

                Yuri won’t let him.

                “And now?”

 

                It’s weird how vulnerable words can make one feel.

                They’re not friends, him and Yuri. Anyone could tell that much from their interactions. But Yuri was kind enough to share this, this part of him that he can’t imagine many others knowing. And JJ, JJ knows what to say. He knows what he wants to say, and what he should say.

                Yuri’s watching him like a hawk.

                For the first in a long time, JJ knows what he wants to hear.

                “I do.”

                Yuri is a very stubborn person, JJ must confess.

                “I like competing against you.”

                Maybe even more than he.

 

                There really isn’t anymore to be said.

                Yuri stares at him, hard, and turns on his heel, considering stomping out of the locker room. He really doesn’t want to deal with anymore of this unnecessary drama that somehow, he let himself be pulled into. Still, dealing with a rival like JJ, he begrudgingly must accept, is worthwhile.

                Instead of leaving, he walks over to his own locker, twisting it to the combination until it pops open, a loud metal click in the silence of the room. JJ’s eyes stay on him as he turns the lock, jostling it free of the locker itself. He knows this silence. It’s not stressful, but expectant.

                Hopeful.

                “I’ll beat you tomorrow.” He’s certain. “I’ll crush you entirely. And then you’ll have to crawl back to the ice.” To the world JJ knows, all the music and fashion and whatever else he wants to dabble in. Yuri doesn’t care, not really. He’s only saying this for himself. “Let hell you’re going to win, asshole.”

                “Then you’re going to have to think about what’s next.”

 

                Otabek ends up winning gold, beating out both Yuri and JJ with a world record. They’re more than a little peeved at first, gaping and staring at each other and then at center ice where Otabek quivers with extortion after his performance, gasping and grasping his shaky knees. Yuri’s about to run on the ice to scream when Otabek stands, levels his eyes first at Yuri, then JJ, challenging.

                Yuri and JJ don’t tie exactly, but they are neck and neck, Yuri finishing a meager two points above. Otabek stands smugly in the middle of the awards stand, holding up his gold medal, the first he’s won from the Grand Prix series. Yuri holds silver, again, a familiar irritating weight that loosens up when he glances over to JJ in bronze. The Canadian is smiling at the cameras, flashing his picture perfect grin. No one could tell the thoughts that run through his head.

                But they walk off the ice. To the lockers, to rest, to think, to change back into the human beings they are. The moment that they walk into the room, Otabek pinches at their sides, earning a squirm from JJ and an angry squawk from Yuri.

                “I won,” Otabek says simply, marching in the middle. “As winner, neither of you are allowed to disappear.” From the ice, from their relationship, from the world.

                Not like Yuri, sixteen and drowning on the ice.

                Not like JJ, twenty three and hidden behind an empty crown and cape.

                “Beat me,” he says, because he knows they can and they do too, “in your return.” Otabek jiggles his lock from his locker and swings it open, staring inside. If nothing else, he’ll keep them close. The world will keep turning after they die. But while they’re alive, there are things to do. People to live for.

                “I care.”

                He pulls out his bag, and slams it shut.

**Author's Note:**

> These boys are precious, please protect them always as they grow.
> 
> Sometimes, life seems to have no value. You've done everything you've wanted, or none, and there's seemingly nothing in your life to live for. Take a moment to remember that though the world keeps turning after you're gone, it doesn't mean there's no meaning in your life. As Leo's song says, "Stay Alive". There's always something more.
> 
>  
> 
> (If you want to send me a message or a prompt, I'm taking them at my tumblr: yuri-yaoi.tumblr.com


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